


Hate to See You Cry

by moodymarshmallow



Series: The Elf and the Apostate [9]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when your healer falls in battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hate to See You Cry

_“Are you okay?”_  
  
If there was one thing that Theron had learned in his time as a Grey Warden, it was that nothing good ever came from the Deep Roads. They could be left to the dwarves and the Wardens foolish enough to go down there, for all he cared, yet it never turned out that way. Instead he was leading a corpse, a surprisingly enthusiastic dwarf, and a similarly claustrophobic mage into the depths, into the stench and the rot, where the walls that closed in echoed with the death of ages.

What was worse, was that every single entrance they found to the blighted Deep Roads seemed somehow sicker, somehow more wrong than the last. Here, there were the shadows of the casteless, more painful for Sigrun than for Theron, but disconcerting nonetheless. Here, there were those new, bug-like darkspawn, hatching from the walls like so many ugly, unnatural spiders.   
  
 _“Don’t look at me like that, I’m going to be fine.”_  
  
There was no sense in this; Kal’hirol was lost, the Legion was lost, and soon they would be too. They were running low on poultices, on lyrium and elfroot, the few hours they’d taken to rest had done nothing to rejuvenate anyone but Sigrun, who slept quite peacefully despite the circumstances. Justice simply didn’t sleep, and neither Anders or Theron could manage to relax enough to do so. They simply sat near one another, Theron sifting through what arrows he could salvage, Anders making poultices with what little elfroot they had left.

They were close to the bottom; at least that’s what Sigrun said, and Theron trusted a dwarf to know the stone far better than he would. That gave them a measure of hope, if there was a bottom then they would reach it, and they’d have nowhere to go but back up.   
  
 _“I’m pretty sure I’ve survived worse.”_  
  
Reaching the bottom was no mercy. They were ill-prepared for the golem, less so for the darkspawn controlling it. It would have been slaughter, if not for Justice, who felt no pain from the fire and had unflagging stamina. Sigrun fared more poorly, falling once, being rejuvenated by Anders, then falling again.   
  
Then Anders fell.

Theron saw it happen out of the corner of his eye while he reached back for another arrow, he watched as the golem swung one of those enormous metal fists towards him and knocked him into the far wall where he lay prone, the hem of his robes on fire. Somehow the robes upset him; how were they supposed to replace Tevinter robes in the middle of Ferelden? He strafed around the room while picking off the darkspawn with his dwindling supply of arrows, inching closer to Anders. There was blood on his lips. **  
  
**_“Come on now, I’d hate to see you cry.”_

Theron was on his knees when the golem fell, hovering a hand over Anders, afraid to touch him. His eyes were playing tricks on him; the longer he looked the more he saw Tamlen, so he squeezed them shut and pressed his fingers against Anders’ neck, trying to find his pulse. His hands were trembling, and when he opened his eyes again he could have sworn the ceiling was much, much higher than it was now. It was disconcerting, just like the feeling that the walls were squeezing him in, or that the air was getting thinner. He knew it was paranoia, but…  
  
He narrowed his focus to Anders, ice in his spine as he watched him, too still to be right. He was supposed to be mobile and smiling, full of failed attempts at humor. He curled over him, putting his ear against his bloody mouth, searching with his fingers to try and find a pulse, letting out a cry of frustration at the frantic pounding of his heart in his head. He couldn’t hear. He moved his lips, cursing, praying, begging  _please not again, please not again._

Falon’Din could not have him too.   
  
He found a pulse, light and flagging, but there. Sitting up, he tore off his pack and dug through it, looking for potions and poultices, something to stop the bleeding and give him a chance. Sigrun, who had only been knocked out, approached him with Justice, looking bedraggled but no worse for wear. There was a knowing sort of worry on her face as she too began searching her pack for something to help the unconscious healer.   
  
Anders’ eyes opened as Sigrun was trying to pry open his mouth to pour a potion into it. With a thick, shuddering sigh of relief, Theron collapsed into himself, shaking, hands over his face.   
  
“Hey, are you okay?” Anders voice came out in a sick croak as he tried to sit up, but succeeded only in jarring a broken rib. He did manage to get his head up high enough to drink from the bottle Sigrun was shoving at his lips. Theron raked back the bangs that had fallen during their trip, turning to Anders with wide, wet eyes.   
  
“Don’t look at me like that, I’m going to be fine.” Anders smiled, the expression sardonic due to the blood on his face. “I’m pretty sure I’ve survived worse.” Sitting up with Sigrun’s help, Anders took one of Theron’s hands, expecting it to be pulled away out of modesty or embarrassment or whatever it was that made Theron finicky about where and when it was proper to show affection. Instead, he winced in pain as Theron wrapped his arms around him, raising his arms to gently return the hug.

Theron still shook like a nervous rabbit, his breath coming in fast, hitching spasms. Anders glanced over his shoulder at Sigrun and Justice, nodding slightly to the exit. Sigrun understood and led Justice off, giving them a moment.   
  
“Come on now, I’d hate to see you cry over me.” Anders brushed his hand against Theron’s cheek, using a thumb to catch a tear and rub it away. “You’re my big bloody hero, remember? The heroes don’t cry in any of the tales.”   
  
“I’m not a hero,” Theron said through gritted teeth. “Least of all yours.” He squinted his eyes, biting back the tears. “I can’t lose you; I can’t do this again. I can’t—I’m not—I just want to go somewhere we’ll be—” Anders wiped his mouth on his sleeve before kissing him lightly.   
  
“You don’t get to decide how other people see you, if I say you’re—” Anders paused and closed his eyes, feeling dizzy. “I broke something…several somethings…I think…” He took a lyrium potion from Theron and downed it, breathing deeply as he could taste his connection with the Fade again. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to patch himself up to get to the surface of Kal’hirol, leaning heavily on both Justice and Theron.

There were merchants on the North Road. Though it took a good handful of coin, Theron was able to convince them to give the group a ride back to Vigil’s Keep. It wasn’t comfortable, the wagon jostled Anders’ broken ribs and there was barely enough room for everyone to sit, but it was better than walking, if only by a small measure. It got them back, at least, to where it was safe and familiar, where Theron could take Anders back up to their room and just pretend that he had a life.   
  
Anders slept fitfully after downing what potions he could, trying to rest himself back to his full potential while Pounce curled around his head, licking his cheek occasionally, and Theron dozed restlessly next to him, waking at every small sound, tearing himself out of sleep when he closed his eyes and saw the Brecilian forest, when he heard that screeching. Eventually he stopped trying to sleep, reading at the desk until he’d wake hours later, face-first in the book, Anders’ hand on his shoulder as he gently dragged him back to bed.  
  
It took Theron longer to catch up on lost sleep than it took Anders to get well enough to heal himself. His nightmares came so frequently that Anders finally had to mix up a remedy for sleep and force him to take it, just so he wasn’t shambling around the Keep like a dead man. The Seneschal kept things going while everyone did their best to get back to normal; normal for Wardens, at least.

A dam broke once Theron was rested. He told Anders the whole story about Tamlen, of finding him in the forest, wasted and sick, no more of a man than a husk, of being attacked, of watching him fall to the ground, an arrow in his chest, of the horror in that, of the terror in it ever happening again.

Anders let him cry this time, arms around him, letting him soak the shoulder of ruined Tevinter robes. He knew as he held him, shaking and small, that he would do  _anything_  to make sure that Theron never cried like that again. It was overwhelming to finally realize what that meant, that  _this_ was what he’d been waiting for, that  _this_  was what those nights in the tower were spent dreaming about. His eyes stung, and when Theron finally calmed, it was only so that, this time, he could wipe Anders’ tears away.


End file.
